I often google people I used to know, especially if their names aren’t too common, to see if I can locate them out in cyberspace. sometimes I get lucky, and I send them an email, sometimes they answer.

I used to know Cindy in college. She was a year or two younger than me and my roomates, but she used to hang out at our place, a good friend. I think we were on her way home. No, there was no romantic involvement, I just think she liked us because we were a little older, upperclassmen, science majors, veterans, and a little strange. We were definitely not fraternity boys, but we were all self-supporting. Best of all, we always had good music and first-rate refreshments. Sometimes we would pile into her little car and go pub crawling. Cindy had a level head on her shoulders, independent and mature, good-natured but no-nonsense. We had some good times together. I lost track of her when I moved to Puerto Rico, and by the time I got back she had graduated and vanished.

I don’t know why I googled her name, I had done so earlier and got no hits, and it was highly unlikely she wasn’t married and had changed her name. But this time I got a hit. A small interior decorator business in Manhattan, the picture on the website was instantly recognizable, even after 40 years. She looked pretty good, too! I sent an email and later that evening I got a phone call. I instantly recognized her voice. Funny how memory works.

Sure, she remembered me, and we swapped tall tales for an hour or so, seeing how many of our old friends were still around, or that we still kept in touch with. “Did you ever know Ruby Begonia?”, you know, that sort of thing. We exchanged biographies, she had had your basic hippy chick life, backpacked solo around the world, sailed across an ocean in a small yacht with a Turkish dude, opened a consulting business in New York City that had somehow managed to survive and even prosper. I always knew the chick would make it. She was tough and she was smart. She had never married. I don’t know why, she was quite a catch, but I guess she didn’t need anybody to take care of her.

She had her share of luck, too, as I have learned all of us who eventually made out OK did. She had stayed with friends in Manhattan, sub-letted a studio apartment from someone who was always traveling, so she got a good price, and when he died she picked up the lease for a song. It was rent-controlled, so she has a Manhattan flat with a view of the East river for $800 a month, unheard of today. She got to New York decades ago when the economy was on the verge of bankruptcy, crime was awful, vacancies plentiful and city services were breaking down. But it allowed her to get her starter job and thrive. Now she’s an independent entrepreneur in the New Rome, the center of the galaxy.

She says young people moving into the City now can’t survive without Ivy League degrees and subsidies from Mom and Dad, little places like hers start out now for thousands a month. And of course, they have to pay off those student loans. Young settlers get lots of roommates, and often give up and go back to Kansas.

Any way, we exchanged contact information, and promised each other we’d keep in touch and if we were ever in the same town together we’d get together for a few drinks or a meal.

The North Tampa Web spreads far and wide.